


Troubling Implications

by skywalkersamidala



Series: The Empress and Her Sith Lord [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Smut, Suitless Vader, Vaderkin, empress and sith lord au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6904066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywalkersamidala/pseuds/skywalkersamidala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps he hated himself for it—Padmé thought he probably did—but he came that night (several times, in fact). And the night after that, and the next one, and the next, until it became a habit that neither of them seemed especially inclined to break. (Sequel to "Aggressive Negotiations")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to "Aggressive Negotiations," so I would strongly recommend you read that first or else this one won't make a whole lot of sense.

Every single one of Padmé’s advisors flinched nervously the first time they walked into the throne room and saw a Sith Lord reclining lazily against the wall. Padmé hid a grin; she always liked to keep them on their toes. Complacent advisors didn’t give good advice. She briefly informed them that Lord Vader would be aiding the Empire from then on, but otherwise she spent the entire day ignoring his presence, despite feeling his eyes boring into her every time she turned her back.

This continued for a few more days, until, on her way out one evening, Padmé grabbed his arm and murmured in his ear, “I expect you in my rooms no later than midnight, Lord Vader.”

Surprise was palpable in his expression—everyone knew that Empress Amidala never took the same lover twice, and Vader must have assumed their encounter would not be repeated—but there was also a hint of desire there, too, and was that a bit of self-loathing she detected? Padmé smirked at him and continued on her way.

Perhaps he hated himself for it—Padmé thought he probably did—but he came that night (several times, in fact). And the night after that, and the next one, and the next, until it became a habit that neither of them seemed especially inclined to break.

At first, Vader’s official duties consisted mostly of standing around looking intimidating during imperial meetings, but that was to change one day after they’d been sleeping together for about a month or so. “I just need a bit more time, My Lady,” the imperial ambassador to Bespin was saying. “Bespin is unwilling to forego its neutrality. Convincing them to join the Empire is a difficult task…”

Padmé sighed and shifted in her seat as the woman started spouting some drivel about mining and trade, emphasizing how tricky the situation was and how hard she was working to resolve it. Gazing around absently, Padmé’s eyes suddenly fell upon Vader, whose position by the opposite wall made him clearly visible to her, but not to any of the room’s other occupants, who sat facing her with their backs to him. As the ambassador continued droning on and on, Vader rolled his eyes and made a face, shaking his head in disgust, and Padmé suddenly felt herself overcome with the most un-Empress-like urge to giggle.

She tried to suppress it, but was unable to stop herself from letting out a tiny snort. Vader looked up, and upon seeing the mirth in her eyes and apparently realizing that he was the cause of it, he grinned at her. Padmé bit her lip, though the corners of her mouth still quirked up slightly, and quickly turned her attention back to the ambassador as she said in puzzlement, “My Lady?”

“Forgive me, Ambassador. I do not doubt your knowledge about the situation on Bespin, and I appreciate the valuable expertise you bring to this discussion,” Padmé began diplomatically, and the ambassador swelled with pride. “However, Tibanna gas would be a very valuable resource to the Empire—and a very dangerous one if it were to fall into the hands of the Rebels. This is a matter of urgency, and I am afraid I cannot allow you any more time.”

“My Lady, please reconsider—”

“I’m sorry, Ambassador, but we must act now. I thank you for the work you have done thus far, but a more assertive strategy is needed. Lord Vader,” Padmé called, and he obligingly stepped forward as all eyes in the room swiveled towards him. “You will go to Bespin and persuade them to ally with the Empire. Use any means necessary.”

Vader bowed his head. “It will be done, My Lady.”

“With all due respect, My Lady, is Lord Vader qualified for this?” one of her advisors asked doubtfully. “He has yet to even take part in a mission, let alone carry one out on his own. And one of such an important nature, at that.”

“Lord Vader will not fail me,” replied Padmé assuredly. She looked Vader squarely in the eye. “Because if he does, the consequences will be severe.”

Vader steadily returned her gaze. “It will be done, My Lady,” he repeated.

The day’s meetings ran especially late, so Vader accompanied Padmé directly back to her rooms. “You certainly seemed inspired by what the Bespin ambassador had to say,” Padmé remarked in amusement.

“What a kriffing idiot,” muttered Vader, scowling. “All of them, not just her, all your politicians. Always talking and arguing and never actually doing anything. It’s absurd.”

“I suppose you think it would be more effective to solve every problem by charging in brandishing a lightsaber,” Padmé said derisively.

“Better than just sitting around and not getting anything done,” he countered.

“Speak your mind about the way I run my Empire, why don’t you?”

“It’s not _your_ fault, My Lady. _You_ know what you’re doing. You’re easily ten times smarter than the lot of them combined.”

Padmé felt her cheeks grow a little pink at the words, and she ducked her head to hide a smile as inexplicable warmth bloomed in her chest. “Well, unfortunately, I can’t do everything myself, so I have to keep them around.”

When she glanced back up at him a moment later, Padmé saw an unfamiliar softness in Vader’s face. He quickly looked away as their eyes met, then cleared his throat and changed the subject.

* * *

It turned out that Padmé was right to place her confidence in him: Vader arrived back on Coruscant a few weeks later with the news that Bespin was now under the Empire’s control. Padmé rewarded him in her chambers that night, though it felt rather like a reward for herself, as well. In the time he had been gone, some small part of her had missed him. Or at least, had missed the touch that felt so good it made the idea of taking a different lover in his absence wholly unappealing.

Having proven himself capable, Vader was given more and more frequent assignments, though for reasons unknown even to herself, Padmé never sent him away for very long. Vader’s assignments were usually solo ones, as he wasn’t shy about reminding Padmé that he worked better alone, not to mention the fact that all her soldiers (and even most of her generals) were terrified of him. He didn’t really fit into the Empire’s strictly-defined power structure; he reported directly to Padmé and more or less ignored everyone else, and as she had promised, no one but her was allowed to give him orders, not that they would have dared to anyway.

In time, Vader became a curious combination of right-hand man and personal lapdog to the Empress, bending others to his will as she bent him to hers. The galaxy’s news outlets didn’t quite know what to make of him; some were awestruck as they discussed “the fearsome Sith Lord” while others snidely referred to him as “the imperial whore.”

It was intoxicating, thought Padmé as she rode him one night about six months after they had first met, knowing that she was the only being in the entire galaxy to whom this powerful man would submit so utterly. While Padmé had initially regarded their nights together with indifference (and faint amusement at how easily she could make him come undone), starting around the time of his return from Bespin, she had begun to feel happy anticipation bubbling in her stomach every time his knock sounded on the door. The implications of this troubled her. She tried to convince herself the feeling was only because she looked forward to a good fuck at the end of a long day, but somehow a niggling doubt persisted in the back of her mind.

Padmé probably would have been even more worried if she had thought to wonder exactly what prompted her to invite Vader back to her bed nearly every night he was on Coruscant. After all, just the occasional encounter would surely have been sufficient to eventually result in the conception of an heir. All of that, however, was far from her mind as she sighed at the feeling of his hard cock inside her, staring with shameless lust at his heaving chest, his swollen lips, his disheveled hair. “My Lady,” Vader moaned, gripping her hips tighter.

Perhaps it was because she had been admiring how beautiful he looked underneath her, or perhaps it was something more than that, but for whatever reason, she reached out to stroke his face and corrected him with a murmured “Padmé.”

His bright eyes gazed at her in astonishment, and as she moved again he let out a hiss, then whispered, “Padmé.”

Desire spiked through Padmé’s entire body, and she groaned and began riding him harder. She thought of how strongly he always reacted when she used his real name, and she believed she now knew how he felt. She still thought of herself as “Padmé,” though it had been years since anyone else had called her by that name; perhaps it was the same for him.

“Anakin,” she said, still grazing her knuckles against his cheek. He covered her hand with one of his, and she let him, twining their fingers together.

Vader said her name over and over again, increasing in volume each time as he got progressively more comfortable with addressing his Empress in such an intimate manner. Padmé climaxed around him, gasping with pleasure, and her name was wrenched loudly from his lips one final time as he followed seconds later.

She collapsed beside him, panting and satisfied. Vader lay there for a moment, catching his breath, before moving to stand and leave as he always did. Then, for the second time that night, Padmé did something she couldn’t explain: her hand darted out and latched around his wrist.

Vader froze and turned to look questioningly at her. Padmé returned his gaze, trying to convey her meaning with her eyes. _Stay._

His lips parted in surprise, but after a minute of consideration, he slowly climbed back into her bed. Realizing she hadn’t thought about what would happen next, Padmé was just beginning to curse herself for being so foolish when Vader tentatively snaked his arms around her, and she instinctively snuggled up against him.

A logical voice in the back of her mind was insisting that this was a terrible idea, but he was so very warm and solid and _comfortable,_ and soon his steady breathing had lulled her to sleep.

When Padmé awoke in Vader’s arms the next morning, she was feeling much more in control of herself, and she gave him a sharp nudge before breaking free of his grasp and standing up, some strange sense of modesty prompting her to take one of the sheets with her and wrap it around her body as he sleepily blinked his eyes open. It was irrational, she knew, since he had seen her naked countless times, but there was something about the cold light of day that made her feel uncomfortable to be so exposed before him.

“I expect you in the throne room in two hours, Lord Vader,” she said brusquely. He gave her a lazy smile, and she wondered in outrage if he intended to disobey her, but then he stood, retrieved his clothes off the floor, and began getting dressed. He took his sweet time about it, and Padmé huffed impatiently, pulling the sheet more tightly around herself.

At last Vader was fully clothed, and before Padmé could react, he had moved towards her and pulled her in for a long, hard kiss. As soon as Padmé was able to remind herself that she shouldn’t be enjoying it, she jerked back and glared at him. He smirked again and sauntered out of the room.

Padmé was in a poor mood after that, and she snapped angrily at her undeserving handmaidens as they helped her get ready for the day, though they serenely ignored her bad humor. She scowled at herself in the mirror while Sabé expertly twisted her hair into a complex style. Padmé had slipped up the night before. Allowing him to use her first name, asking him to stay for the night…she had given him too much power, and now he was getting cocky.

And yet, she couldn’t deny how much she had enjoyed hearing him murmur “Padmé,” or how content she had felt, falling asleep in his arms and waking up still pressed against him. These admissions only irritated her further. She had always been perfectly capable of separating business from pleasure; why was it so difficult when it came to Anakin?

 _Vader,_ she corrected herself sternly, frown deepening. Yes, she was certainly teetering on the edge of a very dangerous precipice. Ruling the galaxy required a clear head, and that was something Padmé didn’t have when it was filled with images of the Sith Lord, commanding in the throne room and submissive in the bedroom, both aspects of his persona equally attractive to her…

Annoyed at herself, she gave her head a slight shake, causing Sabé to cluck her tongue disapprovingly as she was forced to readjust a few pins. Padmé wasn’t supposed to be attracted to Vader. This was very bad indeed. Unbidden, thoughts of her plan to have him father her child crossed her mind. She hadn’t told him of it, nor did she intend to—it was her heir, after all, and whoever its father was, whether Vader or someone else, was no more than a means to an end.

Her handmaidens had reminded her to take her contraceptive pill the first time she’d skipped it, but Padmé had mumbled rather awkwardly that she was aware she hadn’t taken it, and they’d discreetly ignored the issue after that. Nothing had come of it as yet, which Padmé was suddenly glad of; perhaps Vader wasn’t the best choice, after all. She grudgingly acknowledged that her feelings towards him may have somehow become a bit more complicated than was desirable, and throwing a child into the mix would likely only increase any imprudent attachment she felt towards him.

Still, when she went into the fresher after Sabé had finished her hair, Padmé looked at the bottle of pills, reached for it, hesitated, then withdrew her hand. Another day or two wouldn’t hurt.

Preoccupied with her concerns about the Vader situation, Padmé was on edge throughout the day’s meetings. Vader himself leaned against the wall, arms folded, as politicians and generals seeking an audience with the Empress filed in and out of the throne room. Padmé strongly considered asking him to leave, but then he would know he’d gotten under her skin, and she couldn’t allow that. So instead she did her best to ignore him, which wasn’t difficult, as everyone seemed to be bringing her only bad news, and within a few hours she felt a headache coming on.

“Let me make sure I’m understanding you correctly,” Padmé told one of her ambassadors to the Outer Rim Territories. “You have, _once again_ , failed to bring the Mandalore system under the Empire’s control, despite repeated attempts to do so throughout the past _six months?_ ”

The man flushed. “I beg your pardon, My Lady, but it is a very delicate situation—”

Padmé held up a hand to cut him off, then sighed and rubbed her temples. Suddenly, she had an idea of how she could deal with two problems at once. “It is clear to me that you are not up to the task at hand. I am taking you off this mission. Lord Vader will replace you.”

“My Lady, this is a matter of politics,” he protested. “Lord Vader—”

“Has never failed to bring me results, unlike you, Ambassador,” Padmé said sharply, and he fell into an angry silence. She turned to Vader. “You will depart for Mandalore this evening. Prepare for a long stay; I expect this will take about a month, at the very least.”

“As you wish, My Lady,” he replied calmly.

Padmé was satisfied. This would keep Vader out of her hair for a while, and in the meantime she would be able to shut down whatever was going on in her heart where he was concerned. She was in slightly better spirits for the next hour, until out of nowhere she felt a tingling sensation between her legs.

Odd. Padmé frowned and tried to ignore it, but then it happened again, stronger this time. She shifted slightly in her seat, bewildered, then gasped quietly as she felt what she thought was a finger stroking her clit.

“My Lady? Are you all right?”

She quickly coughed, embarrassed. “Yes, thank you, General. Please continue.”

There was only one person in the room who could touch her without touching her, and as soon as everyone was absorbed in discussion once more, Padmé slid her gaze towards Vader. He was still lounging by the door, face impassive, but as she met his eyes, she saw them twinkle mischievously. She gave him a dirty look before turning her attention back to the matter at hand.

Or at least, she attempted to, but it was rather hard to focus when wetness began pooling between her thighs as Vader continued fingering her with the Force. Padmé clenched her hands into fists, gritting her teeth as she felt her face start to redden. Within minutes, she was close to orgasm, and she had to bite her lip to keep quiet, thinking with annoyance that all her years of political training had never prepared her for anything like this.

When she could bear it no longer, Padmé made a show of checking her holopad and said, “I apologize, but something has come up that I must attend to. Continue without me; I won’t be long.” And she left the room as fast as she dared, ignoring the surprised looks from her companions.

Padmé was wildly planning to find the nearest fresher and finish herself off in peace when she was interrupted by a hand grabbing her and yanking her through a doorway. Blinking, she saw that she was stuffed inside a storage closet, and Vader was standing across from her, looking extremely pleased with himself; he must have slipped out of the throne room just after she had.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed angrily even as her body begged for his touch.

“You seemed tense, My Lady,” he said innocently, and they were in such a tiny space that with one step he had backed her up against the wall, trapping her as he placed his hands on the stone on either side of her head. “I thought you could do with a little unwinding.”

“In the middle of a highly important meeting?” But she couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped her as he started rubbing his length against her thigh.

“And,” he added in her ear, “I wanted to fuck you one last time before I’m banished to the Outer Rim for Force knows how long.”

“Only I get to decide when you can and can’t fuck me,” she snapped.

“I see.” Vader removed one hand from the wall and slid it between her legs, and electricity shot up her body even though the contact was impeded by several layers of skirts. “Do you want me to go, then?”

She should say yes. “No,” she muttered.

He smirked and started kissing her, lips roaming all over her face and neck, pressing their bodies even closer together. “Will you miss me while I’m gone?”

“Why would I?”

“I know I’ll miss the things you do to me.” He was already hard, and Padmé felt herself somehow growing even wetter than she already had been as he ground against her and sucked on her neck. “Won’t you miss the things I do to you?”

She tried to scoff, though it came out as more of a gasp. “You’re awfully full of yourself.”

“Maybe.” Vader shifted slightly so that his erection was directly between her legs, and Padmé grimly acknowledged that he’d have her begging soon if he kept this up. “But you’ve always seemed to like being full of me, too.” She rolled her eyes at the innuendo, then moaned involuntarily as he rubbed himself up and down against her clit.

She grabbed at his hair, desperately trying to regain some sort of control over the situation. “You’re not allowed— _I’m_ the one who’s supposed to decide—” she protested weakly, hating how childish the words sounded.

“You have so much responsibility, Padmé…so much power,” he murmured, and she shivered as his hand brushed against the skin on her lower back that her dress left exposed. “Wouldn’t it feel good to let go for once? Just for a little while?”

He couldn’t do this. He was supposed to obey her, to kneel before her. _She_ was supposed to control _him_ , not the other way around. “Yes,” she whispered.

Vader moved his lips back to hers and kissed her so deeply she felt dizzy, and then he was unbuckling his pants, lifting her skirts, and sliding inside her. Padmé whimpered and wrapped her legs around him, clutching his shoulders to keep herself from falling.

He grabbed her hips and began thrusting up into her until she was crying out, too far gone to care if anyone passed by and heard. “I know why you’re sending me to Mandalore,” he panted.

“What?” she said breathlessly.

“You’ve started to like me too much.” He stilled his movements to gaze intensely at her. “I was just supposed to be ‘the imperial whore,’ but now you care about me, so you feel you have to send me away.”

Could Vader sense her conflicted emotions through the Force, or was she just that obvious? “I always send you away on assignments,” she stalled. “That’s your _job_.”

“Yes, but never this far, and never for this long.” Vader smirked slightly. “Not since the first time, when I was on Bespin for _weeks._ Do you remember the night after I came back? You hadn’t been with anyone in all the time I’d been gone. You didn’t say so, but I knew.” He leaned in until his face was only a hair’s breadth away from hers, breath hot on her skin as his voice dropped lower. “Do you remember how desperate you were for me that night, how much you _craved_ my touch? I barely even had to _look_ at you to make you wet. You’re always _so_ wet for me, Padmé…”

Padmé squeezed her eyes shut and let out a soft noise that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper. “What’s your point?” she got out.

“My point, My Lady, is that you wanted to make me need you, and you’ve done that. I do need you, Padmé. Sometimes I think I need you more than I need air in my lungs.” Padmé had to choke back a moan as she opened her eyes and saw the lust burning in his own. “But what you didn’t count on happening is that you’ve started to need me, too,” Vader continued. “You need me, and it scares you because you’ve never needed anyone before, and that’s why you’re sending me away for so long.”

Padmé snarled and dug the fingernails of her right hand into the back of his neck until he winced. “Shut up and fuck me.”

He grinned, knowing he’d hit a nerve. Padmé glared back, hating him—and, just as he’d hypothesized, needing him. “As you wish, My Lady,” he said, much more mockingly than he had in the throne room, and he resumed slamming his hips upward. As the rough wall scraped against her bare back, Padmé wished she had chosen that morning to wear a dress that covered up a bit more skin; she was sure the stone would leave visible scratches. And her hair was an absolute mess. She couldn’t return to her meeting this disheveled.

But these worries were abandoned when Vader stopped moving again, just as she was on the brink of orgasm once more. “What now?” she said angrily.

“Admit you care about me.”

She stared at him. _“What?”_

“Admit it,” he said relentlessly.

“No.”

He removed a hand from her hip and began teasing one of her breasts through the fabric of her dress until she was whining loudly. “Admit. It.”

_“No.”_

“Then I might as well get an early start on my trip. Head out right now.” He sucked on the sensitive patch of skin just below her collarbone. “Leave you here, alone.”

“Anakin,” she begged, despising herself. “Please.”

“Not until you admit it.”

Her body was screaming for release, and as he shifted inside her just a tiny bit, she found herself yelling desperately, “Fine! I care about you!”

Padmé could feel him grin against her skin, and he had barely started to move again when she cried out as her orgasm finally, finally ripped through her. She was so overwhelmed with the intensity of her climax that she barely even noticed Vader come with a groan a minute later.

As soon as Padmé felt that her legs could support her again, she shoved him off and turned away, shoulders hunching, humiliated. How could she have let him force that confession out of her, when she had barely even admitted it to herself? Was this how he had felt their first night together as she had ruthlessly drawn the pledge of loyalty from his lips?

Vader’s hand came to rest gently on her shoulder, and she irritably threw it off. “Don’t touch me.”

“I was just going to help you fix your hair before you head back,” he said quietly, all traces of his previous cockiness gone.

Padmé glanced sideways at him. “Fine.”

The Force flowed tenderly around her, coiling her hair back up again, returning pins to their rightful place, and smoothing out her dress. As soon as he was done, Padmé brushed past him and returned to the throne room without a backwards glance. He didn’t follow her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had initially planned to do a series of oneshots set in the same AU, but as I was writing, I realized it's actually one single cohesive story, which is why I'll just be adding chapters on to this fic from now on instead of posting them as individual fics. "Aggressive Negotiations" will stay on its own, though, because I feel it does work well as a oneshot (and it would be a pain to delete it and add it on to the beginning of this fic instead lmao). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Padmé hadn’t seen Vader again after their encounter in the storage closet, nor had she wanted to, and when she woke the following morning, she was comforted by the knowledge that he was already lightyears away, heading to Mandalore. She smiled contentedly at the thought of being rid of him for a while.

However, it soon became apparent that her Vader-free month wasn’t going to be as ideal as Padmé had hoped. The expected time of her monthly bleeding came and went without a trace, and anxiety gnawed at her insides. She had occasionally missed a month here and there before, though, so she tried to convince herself it was nothing to worry about, although that didn’t stop her from glancing apprehensively at the still-full pill bottle in her fresher.

Then came the headaches and the exhaustion. She was just stressed, Padmé told herself, though stress had never before given her such frequent nausea. She considered summoning the medical droids to find out what was wrong with her, then decided against it. It was just a minor illness. It would pass in time.

But Padmé was forced to deal with her symptoms directly one day a little over a month after Vader’s departure. She was in a meeting with her advisors, and soon the subject of the Mandalore system was brought up.

“We have received word from Lord Vader,” her senior advisor announced. “His negotiations have finally succeeded.”

“That’s wonderful news,” said Padmé, though she was filled with dread at the idea of Vader’s assignment ending, as that meant he would soon be back on Coruscant. She stood and began pacing up and down the room as she was filled in on the details.

“He will be returning shortly to discuss the matter more specifically with you, My Lady,” the old man finished. “I believe he is on his way back as we speak.”

Padmé didn’t know whether it was that statement or something else entirely, but she suddenly felt very light-headed. She stopped pacing and braced herself against the table, taking in deep gulps of air. “Are you all right, My Lady?” she heard someone say distantly, but she couldn’t distinguish whose voice it was, and the room started to swim before her eyes.

She came to only a moment later, blinking in confusion as she registered that her handmaidens had left their positions in the corners of the room; Cordé and Dormé were now helping her back into her seat while the others were gathered around anxiously. Her advisors were staring at her in concern. “What happened?” she asked, dazed.

“You lost consciousness for a second, My Lady,” Dormé said, looking worried. “Would you like to return to your rooms and rest?”

Padmé’s dizziness hadn’t abated, but she shook her head. “No, I’m fine. We still have important matters to discuss.”

“We would be happy to postpone, My Lady, if you’re feeling unwell,” one of her advisors piped up, and the others nodded in agreement.

She was about to protest again, but she _was_ feeling unwell, and queasiness was beginning to creep in once more, so she sighed in defeat and said, “Thank you, that would be perfect. I’m sorry to inconvenience you. Please excuse me.”

Murmurs of hope for her improved health followed her out of the room as she leaned on Dormé and Cordé for support, the other handmaidens surrounding her protectively. Upon arriving back in her rooms, they helped her into bed, still looking concerned. “It’s nothing,” she insisted. “I’m just tired.”

“My Lady, I think we should call a med droid,” said Sabé.

“No,” replied Padmé vehemently. “I’m _fine._ ”

“I beg your pardon, My Lady, but you’ve been feeling ill on and off for two weeks. I’m putting my foot down,” Sabé said sternly.

The Galactic Empress knew it was best not to argue with her handmaiden when she used that tone. “Fine,” Padmé muttered, scowling.

Sabé, Dormé, and Cordé shooed the others out of the room to give her some air, and they waited with her as the droid arrived and inspected her. After half an hour of tests, it informed her that she wasn’t ill after all. She was pregnant.

The droid left soon after delivering the news, and Padmé leaned back against the pillows, numb. The three handmaidens looked carefully at her, waiting for her to react, but instead she calmly said, “I would like to rest. Please leave me.”

They exchanged glances with each other before complying, shutting the door gently behind them. Padmé pulled a blanket over herself, feeling hollow. Pregnant. With Vader’s child. She had wanted this, hadn’t she? A powerful heir to inherit the Empire after she was gone. _Admit you care about me._ She saw his gleaming golden eyes in her mind, every inch of the body she knew so well, the soft smiles aimed at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, the reverence on his face whenever she rode him, the smirk as he’d fucked her against the wall. _Fine! I care about you!_ She’d wanted an heir, yes, but she hadn’t wanted _this._

Padmé felt a lump form in her throat. She should never have stopped taking her pills. Why had she been so _foolish?_ She determinedly shut her eyes. Maybe if she fell asleep, when she woke up it would turn out to have all been a dream.

A commotion outside the door dragged Padmé reluctantly out of her nap. She squinted at her surroundings; it was darker in the room now. Evening must have fallen as she’d slept. She heard raised voices coming from the sitting room, and then her bedroom door burst open and someone rushed inside.

Not someone. Vader. Her stomach plummeted. “My Lady, I heard you were taken ill?” he said, crouching beside her bed, genuine anxiety on his face.

Padmé glanced at the irritated handmaidens who had followed him. They must have tried to stop him from disturbing her, but of course they were no match for a Sith Lord. She was sorely tempted to have them kick him out again, but she knew she would have to tell him eventually, and she might as well get it over with. “Lord Vader,” she said stiffly, sitting up. “I see you’ve returned from Mandalore.”

“Never mind that,” he said impatiently. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she informed him. Padmé chewed her lip and gave her handmaidens a meaningful look. Taking the hint, they backed out of the room to give them some privacy, though they left the door open, as if they didn’t trust Vader to be entirely alone with their mistress at the moment.

Padmé looked back at Vader, but he had become distracted and was staring at her midriff, frowning slightly. Her heart gave a thud. Did he—? No, of course he didn’t know yet, how could he? She cleared her throat. “I’m not ill. I’m—”

“Pregnant,” he blurted out, raising his eyes to meet hers, looking for confirmation.

She stared at him, mouth slightly open. “How—you can tell?”

He nodded. “Your life force should have felt a little weaker, if you were ill, but instead it feels _stronger,_ because yours isn’t the only one there anymore.” Vader furrowed his brow and dropped his gaze to her stomach again, concentrating harder. Then his eyes widened. “There’s _three_.”

“Three what? Three life forces?”

“Yes. Yours, very strong, and two others. They’re faint, but they’re there.” He looked up at her once more. “I think you’re having twins.”

Padmé inhaled sharply. One baby was enough to be dealing with, but _two…_ She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, taking another, slower breath to calm herself. She would not break down in front of him. “Anyway,” she said in a businesslike tone. “It’s—they’re—yours.”

A series of emotions chased themselves rapidly across Vader’s face until he settled on careful blankness. “Are you—are you sure?”

She looked at him coldly. “What, you think I have a parade of men in and out of my bed every night you’re gone, like some common whore?” Actually, that’s what she likely would have done in the past, Padmé realized. When had it changed? When had Vader become different from all the rest?

“What? That’s not—” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything of the sort.”

Padmé sniffed and looked away. She was just about to ask him to leave when he said quietly, “So, what happens now?”

She raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“With…us,” he said, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She frowned. “What happens now is that these are _my_ children, _my_ heirs, and they are no concern of yours. You will not be a part of my private life, and you will not be a part of any aspect of theirs.”

He recoiled slightly, hurt flashing in his eyes. “But, Padmé—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. Then she scoffed. “What did you think would happen, anyway? Did you think that we would marry? Raise our children together? That the Empress would run off with a Sith Lord to some remote planet, that we’d be a happy little family?”

The muscles in Vader’s jaw clenched and he glared down at the floor. “I just thought maybe there was still some semblance of a heart in there somewhere,” he said at last. “Guess I was wrong.”

Bile rose in Padmé’s throat. “Get out,” she spat.

He stood and scowled down at her. “Do you _really_ think you’ll be able to keep them from me?” he asked darkly.

The handmaidens rushed back into the room almost as soon as the words left his mouth. Padmé tossed off her blankets, climbed out of bed, and moved to stand directly in front of him, shoving her face as close to his as she could, given their difference in height. “You will not touch a hair on my children’s heads as long as I live and breathe,” she hissed.

“Lord Vader, it’s time for you to leave,” said Sabé warningly. She had a hand on her blaster, as did the others.

They all stood there frozen for another moment before Vader turned and stalked out, anger in every line of his posture, slamming the door behind him. The handmaidens hurried to Padmé’s side. “My Lady?” said Cordé anxiously. “Are you all right?”

Shaken, Padmé didn’t answer, instead getting back in bed and burrowing under the blankets once more. Cordé sat beside her and began rubbing comforting circles on her back, and Padmé made no attempt to wipe away the hot tears that silently trickled down her cheeks.


	3. Chapter 3

Knowledge of the Empress’s pregnancy was soon made public. No official word on the father’s identity was given, though everyone easily guessed that it was Lord Vader. Padmé was miserable at first. Every angry glance from Vader hurt her far more than she cared to admit. It was no more than she deserved, she told herself; after all, she was the one who had rejected him so thoroughly. And she couldn’t get his ominous parting words out of her head: _Do you really think you’ll be able to keep them from me?_ Despite the underlying threat, Padmé found that she couldn’t entirely fault him for the sentiment. Wasn’t it natural for a father to want a relationship with his children? Could she really deny him that? But she had to, she knew. The only way to prevent herself from becoming even more vulnerable than she already was where he was concerned was to sever ties with him completely, and that included keeping him away from her children.

Padmé began taking other lovers again for the first time since she had started sleeping with Vader, but her nights now were paltry, mocking shadows of the ones she’d spent with him. She would invariably still be unsatisfied when she dismissed them, and as soon as the door shut behind them she’d slide a hand between her legs to seek the release that evaded her, powerless to shut out the images of Vader that swam through her mind as pleasure built in her core, surrendering herself to the memories of their nights together that danced behind her eyelids as her climax washed over her. Vader, for his part, never made any attempt to hide the marks on his skin in the mornings, marks given to him by people who weren’t Padmé, and it made the pit of her stomach fill with burning jealousy.

Even ignoring Vader and all the complications he represented, the prospect of two tiny human beings looking up to her, needing her, loving her…it was overwhelming, and a little terrifying. Padmé had spent so long perfecting her ice-cold composure that it was now second nature. What if she wasn’t able to let her walls down even for her own children? “Empress” was a title she wore easily; “mother” seemed a thousand times farther from her grasp.

Eager to avoid Vader as much as possible, Padmé began sending him on lengthier missions, all of which he was only too happy to accept. “Lord Vader,” she said in a tone of forced politeness one day in the third month of her pregnancy. “I hope your trip to Ryloth was productive.”

He inhaled slightly upon seeing her, but otherwise remained silent, and Padmé raised an eyebrow; though they had more or less been giving each other the cold shoulder, he had never ignored a direct remark so blatantly before. But then she noticed that he was staring at her midriff, and, looking down, she unconsciously rested her hands on the small bump that had recently begun showing. Vader had been on Ryloth for several weeks, and Padmé realized that her stomach must have still been flat when he’d departed.

When she dared to glance up at him again, she saw that he seemed unable to tear his gaze away from her belly, and that there was a mixture of surprise and longing in his eyes. Padmé’s heart suddenly ached so fiercely that she had to look away. She heard Vader clear his throat after another moment. “Very productive, My Lady,” he said quietly, and then he quickly turned and walked away.

As the weeks passed, Padmé’s apprehension about her impending motherhood gradually began to dissipate. The more times she heard others say what a blessing her children would be for the Empire, the more started to believe it herself. By the beginning of her second trimester, Padmé was mostly at peace with it all, though she still thought of the twins more as the heirs to the Empire than as her own flesh and blood. It was easier that way. Detaching herself had always made everything feel more manageable, and she didn’t see why this situation should be any different.

One night during her fifth month, Padmé was reading a holobook on the sofa when she felt a tiny fluttering in her stomach. She glanced down, confused, then gasped as she felt a second, slightly stronger movement.

“What is it, My Lady?” asked Dormé, hurrying over.

“I think—I think they’re kicking,” Padmé said wonderingly, laying a hand on her belly and beckoning Dormé to do the same. They waited for a long time, and Padmé was starting to think she’d just imagined it when they felt a distinct jab.

Dormé smiled, and Padmé felt tears spring to her eyes as a jumble of fierce emotions slammed into her. These weren’t her heirs. They were her _children._ Her babies. _She was going to be a mother._ She began crying openly as the realization truly sunk in for the first time in her whole pregnancy, and a moment later, Dormé pulled her in for an understanding hug.

When Padmé ran into Vader in the corridor the next morning, she was about to excitedly tell him that the twins had started moving, but then she remembered they weren’t on speaking terms, and she hastily dropped her gaze as they continued on their separate ways.

The twins only kicked more and more frequently as Padmé’s belly continued to swell, and by the middle of the seventh month, they were moving almost constantly, or at least that’s how Padmé felt as she lay in bed one night, desperately trying to ignore their pokes and elbows. After several restless hours, she was so exhausted that sleep finally managed to claim her.

Padmé was awoken by the cold barrel of a blaster against her head. “Get up,” a harsh female voice hissed in her ear.

She drew in a breath to scream, but a hand covered her mouth and a second blaster appeared—pointing not at her head, but at her belly. “Make a sound and I’ll shoot,” another voice said, this one male. Padmé nodded vigorously, terrified. _The twins._

Blasters still trained on her, she slowly stood and allowed them to escort her out onto the balcony. It looked out onto her private gardens, and she had always relished the spot as one of the only places in the entire palace where she could be well and truly alone, unseen by anyone. How differently she felt now. Her chest grew painfully tight as she saw that the balcony’s lone guard lay in a crumpled, lifeless heap a few feet away.

The woman removed her hand from her mouth, and Padmé spat in disgust. “Rebel scum.” The man’s blaster prodded harder at her stomach, and Padmé’s panic increased. “You would harm innocent, unborn children?” she said in a low voice.

“A necessary evil.” He scoffed. “Although I doubt they would have been particularly innocent, growing up with you for a mother and that Sith whore for a father.”

_Would have been._ As though as far as he was concerned, they were already dead. “Please,” she begged, voice cracking slightly as tears started to well up in her eyes. “Kill me if you want, I don’t care. Just don’t hurt my children.”

“Unfortunately for you, My Lady,” the woman said mockingly, “unless we feel like leaving and coming back in a couple of months, there’s no way for us to kill you _without_ hurting your children. And I’m afraid we’re not particularly patient.”

Padmé’s mind was whirling. If only she’d gotten her blaster from under her bed. Then again, she was so far into her pregnancy that she never would have been able to move fast enough to grab it in the first place, let alone get two shots off before they pulled their own triggers. The balcony was deserted, aside from the three of them and the guard’s body, as was the garden below it. Her handmaidens were stationed throughout her rooms, though at her request, they always left her alone in her bedroom so as not to disturb her sleep. If the assassins had entered from the balcony, as she suspected they had judging by the murdered guard, it was unlikely her handmaidens would have heard any disturbance. After all, her bedroom walls were quite thick, as she had told Vader their first night together.

_Vader._ He was still on Coruscant, having arrived back from the Mid Rim a few days earlier. She knew he had taken over an empty bedroom in the palace ages ago, and if he was there now, perhaps he would be able to sense her distress through the Force? Padmé had no idea if that was how the Force worked, but it was the only chance she had. She tried desperately to somehow project her terror towards him, the danger her—their—children were in. _Anakin, please. Help me. Our children need you._ I _need you. Please hear me. Please._

Padmé’s captors continued to talk as she called out to Vader with her mind, though she was so focused on reaching him that she paid them little attention until the man’s blaster poked her again and she realized they were expecting her to say something. “So what are your plans for me, then?” she asked, frantically playing for time. “Are you going to kidnap me and hold me for ransom? Or are you just going to shoot me right now?”

“Shoot you?” The woman chuckled and shook her head. “No. Too loud. Too messy. I suppose we _could_ take you prisoner, interrogate you, and then kill you once you are no longer of use to us. And that way your children _might_ be spared.” Hope flared in Padmé’s chest, but it was snuffed out as the woman’s smile grew even crueler. “But then, as the imperial heirs, they’d still be a threat to us, you see, and we’d have to kill them anyway. No, it would be far easier to kill all three of you now.”

She nodded at the man, and he stepped forward. As he approached, the woman’s grip on Padmé tightened, pinning her arms behind her back, and then the man’s fingers were closing around her throat. Padmé gasped and choked, struggling for air as his hand cut off her windpipe. She tried to kick him, but he easily sidestepped her.

Time seemed to slow down. Pain was filling her brain, and her vision was starting to go fuzzy. She thought of her babies, about to be murdered simply because she was their mother. _I’m so sorry, my loves. I’m so sorry._

And then the door between the balcony and her bedroom burst open, accompanied by the distinct sound of a lightsaber being ignited. A shot rang loudly through the night, and the woman shrieked and dropped her. The man’s hand flew away from Padmé’s throat, and, desperately gulping in air, she collapsed, though someone caught her before she hit the ground; she thought she heard Sabé’s panicked-sounding voice, but she couldn’t make out any of the words her handmaiden was saying.

Vader was there, dark robes billowing, red lightsaber blazing, and face filled with a fiery rage unlike anything Padmé had ever seen. His hand shot out, and the male assassin rose a few inches into the air, eyes bulging, face purpling, choking to death just as he had attempted to strangle Padmé. Vader jerked his hand, and the man’s neck snapped with a loud _crack_ just before the Sith Lord tossed his body carelessly over the edge of the balcony.

Dimly, she saw Vader rushing towards her, calling her name, a crowd of other people—the rest of the handmaidens?—following him. Padmé tried to reply, but she was unable to make any sound beyond a faint wheeze. It vaguely occurred to her that it seemed to have been an awfully long time since she had last felt the twins move, and then the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger >:) But the next chapter's shaping up to be relatively short, so I'm hoping I'll have it finished and posted sometime tomorrow. Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading and reviewing so far, I really appreciate your feedback!


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Padmé felt was pain. Her throat was on fire, and she coughed, then whimpered at how much it increased her agony.

She opened her eyes. She was in her room, lying in bed. Within seconds, every single one of her handmaidens had appeared and crowded around her. Padmé squinted against all their exclamations of relief that she was awake and demands as to how she was feeling. Memories of the night before flooded her brain: the blaster against her stomach, air squeezed from her lungs, stillness from the children who usually wouldn’t stop kicking her all night…

Her hands flew to her belly. “The—the babies?” she croaked, her voice thin and hoarse. “My babies?”

“They’re fine,” a man’s voice said gently. Padmé turned her head slightly and saw Vader sitting in a chair at her bedside, dark shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept. “The droids said they were unharmed, and you’ll make a full recovery.”

“But they stopped moving.” Padmé furrowed her brow and realized she couldn’t fully recall. “Or at least, I _thought_ they did.”

“They were just asleep,” said Vader simply. “After we brought you in here, I reached out to them with the Force to see if they were okay, and they were both sleeping, safe and sound. That must have been why they seemed like they were moving less.”

Padmé closed her eyes as her body sagged with relief. They were all right. Her children were all right. She felt someone hesitantly take her hand. She knew it was Vader. She didn’t care. She gripped it tight. After several moments, she opened her eyes again and asked, “What happened?”

“I felt a disturbance in the Force,” Vader explained. “I sensed that you were afraid, that you were in danger, and I ran up here as fast as I could. I took care of the man, and Sabé shot the woman, but she survived, so she’s being held and questioned now. The Rebellion is denying involvement, but I believe they’re lying. Whoever was behind this, we’ll find them, and we’ll make them pay.” There was a hard edge to his voice, and Padmé didn’t doubt he’d be as good as his word. “We took you inside and called the med droids. They were here tending to you for a while, but when they left, they told us you didn’t have any serious damage, just some bruising. They figured you could only have—have been choked for a minute or two before we got there.”

A minute or two? It had felt like a lifetime. Padmé smiled weakly at him. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For sensing that I—that I needed you.”

He smiled back, relief at her safety palpable in his expression, and squeezed her hand.

The handmaidens fussed over her for a while longer, making absolutely sure that she was all right before discreetly slipping out, though two of them stayed behind and retreated to the corners of the room, unwilling to leave her completely alone after what had just happened. Padmé slowly sat up, and Vader reached out to help her. At that moment, Padmé felt the familiar jabbing in her stomach, and she could have wept for joy. She shyly grabbed Vader’s hand and placed it on her belly.

He gasped in wonder as he felt their children kick. His eyes widened, then filled with tears—and when he raised them to look at her, Padmé saw that they were no longer Sith-yellow. They were blue.

Vader stood and moved to tentatively sit beside her on the bed. He took a shuddering breath. “Padmé, I thought—I thought I was going to lose you. All three of you. I was so—so afraid that—” His voice broke, and Padmé watched in astonishment as the most powerful Sith Lord in the galaxy started to cry.

Wordlessly, she reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace. As Vader’s body shook against hers, Padmé thought of how close she had come to losing them, the babies that she had initially almost not even wanted but now loved so fiercely, and then she was breaking down too, ignoring the pain in her throat as sobs tore their way out.

They clung desperately to each other as they wept, like swimmers lost at sea holding onto a rock to prevent the current from washing them away. The two handmaidens that remained in the room would normally have rushed over upon seeing their mistress’s distress, but they did not intervene, as if understanding that this was a private moment between two parents who had nearly lost their children.

Their tears eventually subsided into silence, though not an uncomfortable one, and after a while Vader cleared his throat and said softly, “It’s a boy and a girl, you know.”

Padmé drew back slightly to look at him, and she opened her mouth to ask how he knew before recalling that thanks to his Force powers, Vader always seemed to know things it should be impossible for him to know. “How long have you known?” she asked instead.

He shrugged. “A few months. Whenever we were near each other, I always tried to sense them inside you, because I thought that was the only way I’d ever be able to be close to them.” Vader looked away, though not before Padmé saw a flash of pain in his still-blue eyes. “And as their life forces got stronger and stronger, eventually I could tell that they were a boy and a girl.”

Padmé felt a lump form in her throat once again. She had been suffering during all the months of their separation, though she had barely admitted it to herself…and she had been so busy being self-absorbed that she had hardly ever bothered to think how much Vader must have been suffering, too. Shame coursed through her as she thought of the way she had treated him the day she found out she was pregnant, the way she had ordered him to stay away from his own children, the way she had spent over six months freezing him out—and the way he had rushed to her aid the night before without a second thought, in spite of everything she had done to him.

“I’m sorry,” said Padmé quietly, causing Vader to turn his gaze back to her. “I shouldn’t have tried to keep you from them. It was selfish, and it wasn’t fair. They’re—they’re your children as much as they are mine, and—and you have a right to know them, if you want.”

For a moment, Vader looked as though he hardly dared believe it. Then he gave her a small, hesitant smile and said, “Thank you, Padmé.”

Padmé didn’t reply, only leaned against his chest once more, surrendering herself fully to his arms and allowing herself a tiny smile as he contentedly rested his chin on top of her head.

She slept fitfully that night. Images of her near-assassination wove in and out of her dreams. There she was on the balcony again, the man holding the blaster against her stomach as she wept and begged him to have mercy on her children. But this time he pulled the trigger, and Padmé awoke screaming, face streaked with tears.

In a moment, Vader had his arms around her; she registered dimly that he must have remained sitting at her bedside all night. He rubbed her back as she took gasping breaths, hands instinctively going to her belly to reassure herself that the twins were all right. “You’re safe,” Vader murmured. “It’s okay, Padmé. You’re safe.”

A few handmaidens were there as well, having insisted on staying in the room with her while she slept, and more rushed in at the sound of her scream. At last Padmé calmed down enough to promise them that she was fine, it was just a nightmare, and to send them back to their posts. Vader released her so that she could lie down once more.

But she couldn’t fall asleep; she was terrified to close her eyes and see it all again. Vader was still in his chair, and eventually she reached out to take his hand. He looked down at her in surprise. “Hold me,” she said in a small voice. “Please, Anakin.”

He immediately stood, crossed to the other side of the bed, and climbed in with her. A second later, she felt his body solidly against her back as his arms came around her, pulling her to him. Padmé nestled in closer, comforted by his warmth, feeling safe in his embrace. Before she knew it, she was drifting off into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm away for the week, but I wanted to get this chapter up before I left. Only one more to go! But I won't be able to post it until I get back next week, so hang in there! As always, thanks for reading :)


	5. Chapter 5

Word soon spread about the attempt on the Empress’s life. The Rebellion continued to insist that the assassins hadn’t been working for them, but like Vader, most people didn’t believe it. The Rebels quickly fell from grace in the eyes of the galaxy, as even those in neutral systems were disgusted that they would sink so low as to threaten the lives of an unarmed, heavily pregnant woman and her unborn children.

Padmé’s security increased a hundredfold. She was moved to a different, even less accessible wing of the palace, and her handmaidens refused to let her venture outside her new quarters for the foreseeable future; Padmé knew they blamed themselves for what had happened, despite her attempts to assure them otherwise. Padmé had no objections to either her room change or her house arrest. She never wanted to see that balcony again, and being in the final stages of pregnancy made her only too glad to remain in her rooms and get a little more rest, though still not as much as she would have liked, given that imperial meetings continued unaffected other than the fact that they were now held in the Empress’s sitting room rather than the throne room.

The bruises around Padmé’s neck faded in a couple weeks’ time, but the nightmares did not. Vader slept in her bed every night, always there to comfort her when she awoke sobbing and panicked. He suddenly became a permanent fixture in her life, as he hardly ever let her out of his sight during the day, either. Again, Padmé wasn’t about to complain. Her brush with death, and the fact that Vader was the reason she and the twins were still alive, had put things into perspective: while she had once felt jittery and tense around him, she now found his presence reassuring. She knew he still cared deeply for her, even after all those months of animosity…and if she was being truly honest with herself in regards to how _she_ felt about _him_ …

But Padmé was still unwilling to think too much about it, hence she and Vader never attempted to discuss where exactly their relationship stood. Instead, aside from their emotional conversation immediately following the attack, they opted for cordial, nonchalant interactions, as if they hadn’t spent the past six months fighting or the six before that sleeping together. In the back of her mind, Padmé reluctantly acknowledged that there was too much left unresolved between them and they wouldn’t be able to ignore it all forever, but she was content to keep up the pretense of casual friendliness for the moment, believing it to be much easier than honesty.

On the other hand, this was by far the most time they’d spent in each other’s company without sex or hostility (or both at the same time) being involved, and it was quite an adjustment. Within a month or so, though she appreciated his sentiments, Vader’s protectiveness and endless worrying over her was starting to drive Padmé slightly mad, and when her advisors brought to her attention a brief assignment on Corellia, she jumped at the chance and insisted that he go.

“But you’re so close to your due date,” he said anxiously. “What if I miss it?”

“I have almost two weeks left,” replied Padmé, trying to remain patient. “Corellia’s not far, and you’ll only be gone a couple days. It’ll be _fine_.”

“But—”

“I have spent quite literally _every second_ of the past month and a half with you. I am extremely pregnant with twins, and as such my temper is currently very short. Please go, or one of these days I’m going to snap and end up running you through with your own lightsaber, and I’d really rather not have that on my conscience.”

Looking as if he didn’t doubt she was capable of doing so, Vader grudgingly agreed, and the next day he departed, though not before insisting she contact him at the first sign that anything was wrong.

So much of Padmé’s relationship with Vader had been comprised of cruel ironies that she really ought to have known she would go into labor the day after he left.

She was woken in the middle of the night by a small cramp. Padmé rolled over, hoping it would go away, but it didn’t. Panic shot through her fifteen minutes later as she experienced what felt distinctly like a contraction. She winced and clutched her side, and suddenly she felt the sheets underneath her grow damp.

“Sabé!” she called, heart racing. “Dormé—ow!”

Having both been positioned in her room that night, Dormé was at her side in an instant as Sabé hurried out to the sitting room to order Rabé to fetch the med droids.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen for another week and a half!” Padmé fretted, and Dormé tried her best to assure her that everything was going to be fine.

“My Lady, would you like me to contact Lord Vader?” asked Sabé when she returned.

Padmé shook her head fiercely. “I don’t want him to sacrifice his assignment for this. I’ll be fine without him. Besides, he’ll be back in a day or two anyway, and he can see the twins then.”

Sabé exchanged a rather doubtful glance with Dormé, but they respected her wishes and did nothing. The droids arrived within ten minutes, and after inspecting Padmé to make sure everything was in order, they informed her that there was nothing to do but wait.

As the hours passed, the mild aching of Padmé’s contractions gradually grew into sharp pains spaced increasingly closer together. The first really intense one brought tears to her eyes, and she cried out, gripping Dormé’s hand. “Anakin,” she moaned.

“Lord Vader’s still on Corellia, My Lady,” Dormé reminded her gently. “At your insistence.”

“I don’t care,” Padmé wailed. “I need him _here_.”

Dormé squeezed her hand. “I’ll see what I can do.” She stood and left the room to find her holopad.

By the time the droids told her it was time to push, Padmé’s throat was raw from screaming. “Where’s Anakin?”

“He was getting ready to leave even as I was speaking with him, and that was several hours ago,” Dormé soothed her. “He should be here any minute.”

“I need him _now!_ ”

But the twins weren’t waiting, and Padmé had to start pushing. She clutched wildly at Sabé and Dormé as she cried and cursed in all the languages she knew, pain rendering her nearly blind.

“Just one more,” one of the droids said encouragingly.

Padmé squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head violently. “I can’t,” she sobbed. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” said a familiar voice.

Her eyes flew open. “Anakin?” she asked tearfully.

And then he was at her side, drawing her into his arms, kissing her tearstained cheeks, stroking her sweaty hair. “I’m here, Padmé. I’m here.”

“I can’t do it,” she gasped again. “Anakin, it _hurts…_ ”

“From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew you were the strongest person I’d ever known, or would ever know,” he told her. “You can do this, Padmé. You _can._ ”

Finally, she nodded, and she felt the Force surrounding her, embracing her, strengthening her as she gave one final push, feeling like she was being ripped in half, screaming so loud her voice cracked.

“It’s a girl!” the droids announced. “Now, keep pushing, My Lady.”

Padmé had never been more upset about having twins than she was at that moment, realizing that she had to do it all a second time. But Vader was by her side, holding her hand and telling her how much he loved her, and Sabé and Dormé were still there encouraging her, and finally the droids were saying it was a boy, and Padmé slumped back and wept.

She had no idea how much time had passed before an impossibly small bundle was placed in her arms. Padmé gazed down at her daughter, speechless. She was so tiny, so beautiful, so _perfect._ Padmé started to cry again.

Vader echoed her thoughts. “He’s perfect,” he said, voice breaking. Padmé looked over and saw that he was holding their son, tears streaming down his face as well.

It was mere hours before the galaxy heard about the birth of the prince and princess. The girl was named the imperial heir, as she had technically been born first. Padmé slept for most of the rest of the day, but that night she and Vader sat in bed holding their children tightly, still as awestruck as they had been right after they were born.

 Vader beamed down at his daughter. “What are their names?”

“Luke and Leia,” said Padmé without hesitation, smiling at the contentment on her sleeping son’s face.

“Luke and Leia,” murmured Vader. “I like those.”

“You’d better, since I’ve already decided on them.”

As he laughed, Padmé suddenly remembered something, something that had stood out even through the haze of agony and exhaustion. “Anakin, you said—while I was in labor, you told me—” She hesitated. She knew his answer would change everything. But she couldn’t stand not knowing. “You told me you…loved me.”

“Oh.” Vader looked down, embarrassed. “It just kind of slipped out, and I didn’t think you noticed, anyway. I mean, you were pretty busy at the time.”

“Well, I did notice.” She looked at him expectantly.

He sighed. “I was telling the truth. Padmé, I—I love you,” he admitted. “I know you probably don’t want me to, but I can’t help it. I can’t stop loving you. Even the whole time we were fighting, I never stopped. I need you, Padmé.”

Padmé’s breath caught in her throat. In the back of her mind, she’d already known it, known he loved her, but hearing him say it out loud was another matter entirely. Her thoughts whirled. She had been so afraid, once, of growing attached to him, and yet as they sat there together, their children in their arms… “But what about all the others? All the lovers you’ve been with these past months?”

Vader shook his head. “They weren’t—none of them meant anything to me. I think I was just trying to get rid of the emptiness I felt without you. It didn’t work.”

“Oh.” She took a deep breath and said, “I did the same thing, and…it didn’t work for me, either.” Padmé swallowed nervously, and then she looked at him more openly than she ever had before. “You were right, all those months ago. I—I do need you, Anakin.”

Vader gave her a shy smile and, before she could lose her nerve, Padmé leaned in to kiss him softly, taking care not to jostle the twins, realizing as she did so that this was the first kiss they’d shared since that day she’d just referred to, in the storage closet, a lifetime ago.

When they drew apart, Padmé said quietly, “I’m sorry for pushing you away all this time. I just—I was scared. Of how much I’d grown to care for you. And I thought, getting close to you—I thought it could only end with me getting hurt.”

“I would never do anything to hurt you, Padmé,” Vader said firmly. He grimaced slightly. “Well, aside from how horrible I was to you the day you told me you were pregnant, and all the days after that.”

Padmé chuckled. “I deserved it. I was far more horrible to you than you were to me.” She cleared her throat before venturing, “I already told you I was wrong about one of the things I said that day, but…there’s something else I was wrong about, too. I told you I want you to be part of the twins’ lives, because you’re their father.” She hesitated for a moment, then plunged ahead. “But what I didn’t say is that I want you to be part of _my_ life, too, because you’re my…” Padmé trailed off, having no words to describe exactly what he was to her. “You’re mine,” she said at last, grinning.

Vader threw back his head and laughed. “I _am_ yours,” he agreed. Then he gave her a little smirk. “And you’re mine.”

Padmé once would have balked at the idea of another person so completely owning her heart, her body, her soul, every part of her, the way Vader did—but now, she only smiled again and said, “Yes, I am. Always.”

As he bent to kiss her once more, Padmé thought of the sarcastic offer she had made him on that fateful day. _Did you think that the Empress would run off with a Sith Lord to some remote planet, that we’d be a happy little family?_ It was a tempting idea now, she thought as she snuggled against Vader, gazing in wonder at the tiny lives they had created. But she had an Empire to run, and besides, they could still be a happy, if rather unconventional, little family, just as they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! Huge thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing, your comments are truly appreciated :) I have to admit that I'm toying with the idea of doing ONE more oneshot in this universe, but honestly it would almost definitely just be Happy Imperial Family Fluff And Drivel. If that's your thing, you miiiight want to keep an eye out, and if it's not your thing, then I hope the ending of this fic wasn't too Fluffy And Drivel-y for you :P
> 
> Also, two quick notes on the chapter: 1) I have no firsthand experience whatsoever with giving birth and based that scene on the results of a couple google searches, so I apologize if it's wildly inaccurate. 2) I switched up the twins' birth order because it seemed logical that the one born first would be Padmé's heir, and I had an easier time imagining Empress Leia than Emperor Luke :P
> 
> Again, thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this fic :)


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